


Writing In The Dark

by TommyLane



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: A startling amount of sweetness, A tiny bit of Crooked Kingdom Spoliers, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8407264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TommyLane/pseuds/TommyLane
Summary: Wylan is half asleep when he feels the first touch, a gentle pressure on the curve of his shoulder, a light scratch that swoops down over his flesh. He's used to the feeling by now, used to Jesper dragging the ink across his skin, covering him in nonsensical words - the darker boy's fingers brushing over him, smearing the ink in patches, his lips hovering in a breath of a kiss that never quite connects no matter how badly he wants it to. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, he bites his tongue and tries to keep as still as he can, because sometimes saying nothing at all is better than all the words that could get tangled between them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what it is about these two that makes me just want to gush all over the place, I'm not normally this sappy people but I can't help it! I had once again set out to write a funny/quirky Jesper/Wylan fic but this came out instead. Seems I'm too much in the mood of exploring intimacy still because well lets be honest - all these characters are so very flawed and Wylan hasn't had the best examples of what love is in his life. But this is why I love them so much I think.

Wylan is half asleep when he feels the first touch, a gentle pressure on the curve of his shoulder, a light scratch that swoops down over his flesh. His mind, still groggy in the tendrils of a blossoming dream, struggles through the sensation as he shifts against the bedding, his eyes blinking in the silver glow of the moon out the window and the splash of flickering yellow from the candles on the bedside. He knows it’s useless, that his brain has never worked this way, but he can't help but try and puzzle it out in his hazy state, his skin prickling with goosebumps as the pen swirls and loops, dragging down over his arm. But the letters refuse to form in his mind as they take shape on his body and with a sigh, Wylan drags his eyes open fully and twists his neck to look over his shoulder.

  
"Jesper?" He mutters, voice tinged in fatigue, body held still so as not to mess up the other boy's movements. "Can't sleep?" It's a silly question, one he knows the answer to already. 

  
Jesper smiles and shakes his head, his brow slightly furrowed in uncharacteristic concentration as he picks up the pen and moves it, starting a new line of confusing letters beneath the one he had just finished on Wylan's shoulder.

  
"Are you alright?" He asks, again already knowing the answer, knowing the way that Jesper will tip his chin and grin at him, his gray eyes sparkling with leashed mischief.

  
It happens just like he expects, Jesper's lips stretching wider, his white teeth flashing, his dark chin inching up. "Just dandy, sunshine." He lies. Or maybe it's not a lie, not exactly. 

  
Wylan has a feeling that it's what Jesper _wants_ to be the truth. But he knows what’s bothering him, what's eating under his skin, and keeping him from the much needed sleep he craves. He knows but he doesn't say anything because Jesper is skittish on nights like this - like a wild animal caught in a gilded cage, railing against the gold bars. He waits until the sharpshooter finishes his next word before he shifts onto his back, carefully easing himself down and holding his arm over his chest so the ink won't smear on the bedsheets. 

  
He feels exposed. He always does. His skin pale in the soft light, his freckles dark spots that Jesper likes to connect with lines of black ink after he finishes his lists, his messages, his words that will get washed down the drain in the morning without ever spilling the other boy's secrets. But he doesn't mind. He actually quite likes it - the tangle of letters that he can't unfurl into any sort of meaning, the secrets that are emblazoned on his flesh with the gentlest of movements.

  
It started out as a nervous tick during long meetings, when Jesper's drumming fingers on the table, or the wall, or his chair, or his leg with his feet bouncing, or pacing, or sitting and standing and sitting again weren't enough to keep him contained - to keep him from jumping out of his skin. He had grabbed the nearest pen and started drawing, first on a paper, then on his hand, then on Wylan's wrist beneath the table.

  
The unexpected marking had tickled and made him jump, the little reaction apparently enough to ensnare Jesper's restless attention for a moment as his drawing grew more intricate, seeking out the spots that made him stifle a laugh or squirm in his chair. The tricky part was figuring out exactly how the innocent distraction during meetings had turned into this - scrawling out words that are never spoken and heard on his skin in the dead of night.

  
Then again, perhaps that isn't so hard to figure out either. It's just another tick, another way to ease the tension inside the other boy on nights when the Barrel is calling with its gambling dens and threat of danger. It's a trade Wylan is more than willing to make - his sleep, his clean skin, he'd gladly let himself be blotted and stained all night if it keeps Jesper safe, keeps him happy. 

  
Because the thought of losing him, even for a night, makes him feel like everything will fall apart - the van Eck dynasty he's now in charge of, the house he runs, his mother that he's trying to coax back to life...himself. Without Jesper it would all crumble, like a decaying tower, with Wylan falling at the center.  


There's a word for the feeling, Wylan knows there is, but he doesn't like it, so he simply doesn't think it. He doesn't need another label to slap on himself anyway, what would be the point?  


Instead he lays back night after night and lets the boy write, lets him cover him in nonsensical words, his fingers brushing over him, smearing the ink in patches, his lips hovering in a breath of a kiss that never quite connects no matter how badly he wants it to. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe, he bites his tongue and tries to keep as still as he can.  


These nights aren't for talking, Wylan has learned.  


It had taken him more than a few nights to get used to this uncannily quiet side of Jesper, his mind rebelling against the silence and stillness, unable to understand how the always chatty man was stilling his unbridled tongue and letting all his endless words flow out of his pen instead. It makes Wylan feel like a vase that the other boy is pouring into in an endless stream, filling him up and covering him like a blanket.  


He thinks he should hate it, that it should offend him - that Jesper choosing this as an outlet has to be some hidden slight. But it’s not and no matter how much his father's voice taps at his head in the morning that it has to be a mockery of Wylan's inability to read, he can't believe it.  


He stifles a gasp as Jesper takes his hand, stretching his arm out against the pillow and pinning it down with his long dexterous fingers. Cocking his head to the side, the darker boy runs his eyes up and down Wylan’s pale arm, his gaze lingering on the inside of his wrist as Wylan's stomach twists in anticipation.  


It doesn't take long. A moment later and Jesper is pressing the pen to the delicate skin as Wylan's breath hitches, his eyes straining to see the letters forming with each easy flow of the boy's fingers that were meant for tending fields and pulling triggers and manipulating the world around him - not for tapping tables as he reads stacks of contracts and documents.  


He wants to ask what it says, what the endless words mean, but doesn't, just like every other night. Because that would break the spell, the stillness, it would trip the lock on Jesper's bottled energy and...what? He doesn't know and that uncertainty keeps his questions from having a voice.

  
But he can feel it, whatever it says - whatever it means - he can feel every little movement, every scratch and dip, every pause between each carefully constructed letter. It’s a little like Jesper's own fingers, sure and sharp - reminding him that this boy could slice him open with so little these days. The thought scares him, makes him think of his mother and what her love ended up costing her.  


Ketterdam is a diseased city after all and none are immune.  


_I'm not my mother,_ he curls his fingers into a fist, the long digits bending around Jesper's that are still holding his palm flat, _I'm not my father_.  


Jesper's lips move, parting, his tongue peeking out, and Wylan wishes suddenly that he'd kiss him instead of stringing his body along his pen, making his skin rise like a puppet to his inky caress. He bites his lip, sinking his teeth sharply as he watches Jesper's own lip indent between his teeth, a mirror image.  


_His perfectly shaped mouth.  
_

He's so busy staring at the other boy's lip, trapped and reddening, wishing for his illusive courage to make an appearance, that it takes a moment to realize that Jesper has stopped writing, that he's using their entwined hands to lift his arm off the bed - his head turning to the side and breathing over the damp ink. Wylan's eyelids flutter along with the butterflies in his stomach, his gaze sliding over to where the Zemeni boy's mouth is still hovering over his skin and the letters that are magically forming beneath them - the neat scrawl slowing their disconnected dance and settling into a line, into a single word.  


_Wylan_.  


He knows the nonsensical shapes that make up his name, it’s the only word he can actually read without his head splitting, and it took too many years than he cares to admit to even learn that much. He stares at it, his eyes dropping to the maze of letters beneath it with a sudden plea for understanding - arguing with the stupid broken part of his brain to work just this once. To make the letters stay still, to give them shape and meaning.  


"What-" His voice sounds too loud in the silent room, even though he can only manage a hoarse whisper at the moment. He swallows thickly, his heart thumping in his chest like the even smack of Kaz's cane on the dirty streets, and flicks his wide eyes over to find Jesper staring at him. "What -" He tries again, his stomach falling into his feet as the other boy holds his gaze and bends to press his parted lips to his wrist.  


The kiss is wet and hotter than Wylan thought it would be, jolting through him as he blinks and gasps, watching as Jesper's kiss trails down over the unreadable message on his skin - smearing the ink in little patches that cling to the boy’s lips. He shivers, his legs shifting under the blankets that feel suddenly too warm, too heavy.  


"Would you look at that, you can speak." Jesper murmurs with a one sided smile, his hand releasing Wylan's and pressing the paler boy's fingers to the back of his neck before running his hand back down the length of his arm - his thumb catching on the wet words. Smearing the black to gray to nothing.  


"What?" Wylan repeats, his stupid brain stuttering in place as his fingers slide through the short hair at the nape of Jesper's neck - curling through and holding tight.  


The smile turns into a dangerous smirk, the one that always stops his heart, as Jesper twirls the pen in his hand before pressing it against Wylan's skin once more - on the inside of his arm, right above the bend of his elbow. The letters come quick this time, one after the other, marking his skin and making him squirm as he hangs onto the back of Jesper's neck and tries uselessly to read it. Jesper pauses after the fifth row, or maybe the sixth, it's hard to tell really with the swirl of characters and the way Wylan can't seem to find his breath anymore.  


He stares at it, searching for his name, for some recognition but it doesn't come, and just as he's opening his mouth to try and stutter out more than a simple _what_ , Jesper bends down and fastens his mouth over the first word - drawing a squeak from his throat instead of any intelligible words. He can feel the boy's tongue run over his skin, hotter than before, and when he pulls back the words are a mess - black smudges with thick lines and loops, making his neat words look for all the world like they always do in Wylan's head.  


He lets out a harsh breath that rings in his ears as he runs his hand up the back of Jesper's head, thick hair catching in his fingers. He doesn't know what's happening, where this is going, but it's hard to think straight with Jesper's mouth moving over the length of his arm, muddling the ink with each swipe and kiss - his lanky body bending as his mouth reaches the curve of Wylan's shoulder. Those restless, always in motion fingers touching the edge of the words he had written there earlier, tracing over the lines, as his lips run up the slope of his neck.  


Kissing clean skin, free of any marks.  


"Jes." He whispers, his hand clenching in the boy's hair, his eyelids heavy over his vision as he feels the gentle kiss draw up towards his ear. "What -" A chuckle whispers across his skin, the scratch of the pen startling him as he feels it press suddenly against his other shoulder - the ink snaking lines he can't see across to his collar bone and down, dropping until he can feel it scratching over the maddening thump of his heart.

 

But for once Jesper isn't looking at what he's doing and his words are off center, crooked - moving quickly with a confidence that baffles Wylan as the darker boy keeps kissing him. His neck, his throat, his shoulder.

 

It's all so familiar and foreign at the same time. The night, the ink, the quiet, he knows. But these things combined with the kisses, the wetness, the peeks of smiles and something else flashing at him in Jesper's gaze aren't and they leave him motionless, speechless, breathless. He feels pinned and trapped, his mind spinning with the desire to know the words that are darkening him like never before, his body burning like hot coals with each kiss and brush of Jesper's twitchy fingers.

 

He lifts his hand and sees the smeared words on his wrist, his hazy eyes searching out those few letters he knows.

 

 _Wylan_.

 

The bed groans, he feels the pressure of Jesper's body shifting over him, the boy's legs slipping on either side of his hips, his thighs, one hand pressing into the pillow by his head as Jesper tucks his chin down and moves his pen - the ink dropping in a line that goes on and on, straight through his ribs until it reaches the band of his cotton sleep pants. No words, no connect the dots with his freckles. Just a line - perfectly straight, like the trajectory of one of his bullets.

 

He can feel it pressing into the soft skin next to his hipbone, knows that the ink is probably blooming and spreading like a spiders web. He stares at Jesper's bent head, he looks at his wrist. "Wylan." He says his own name softly, questioningly, and waits.

 

"Wylan." Jesper repeats but it sounds like an answer, the pen moving again, sketching out more words in an upwards arc next to the line he'd just made.

 

"W-what else?" He asks, the muscles in his stomach jumping, his throat unbearably thick and sticky. He's breaking his own rules for these night. Don't talk. Don't ask. Lay back and let Jesper write the restlessness from his body.

 

Glancing up, Jesper grins that razor sharp smile of his, the one Wylan had thought was going to kill him that first day he'd seen the other boy in the haze of the tannery. That was so long ago now and there have been thousands of smiles since then, but even still, it always manages to leave him off kilter, like he's just missed the bottom step in a stairwell.

 

"Everything." Jesper says, palm pressing the pen flat against his chest, his head dropping until their lips are almost touching - leaving them there to hover for one agonizing moment before catching Wylan's bottom lip between his in a feather soft kiss that has him squirming all over again. The boy's grin is tangible, wider, filled with that soaring spirit that Wylan has always loved in Jesper as he pulls back, ending it too soon.

 

"Everything?" Wylan says, repeating the word but not the carefree dripping cadence that the other boy had managed with the very same syllables. "I don't...what do you mean?"

 

"It's taking a surprising long time actually." Jesper contemplates out loud, with an expression that Wylan thinks looks almost...bashful. "All those meetings are greatly improving my imagination." 

 

"That doesn't clarify anything you know." Wylan points out, his cheeks flushing a deeper red as Jesper runs his hand up into his hair, tugging gently on his curls, turning his head slightly on the pillow.

  
"But you know what I hate about all those meetings?" He asks like he didn't even hear what Wylan just said, his fingers splaying on the pale cheek beneath him, the pen rolling onto the sheets.

  
"Everything?" Wylan guesses, his stomach twisting but not in the good way that it usually does when Jesper is writing on him or leaning over him like he is now, his body warm and radiating an endless sea of energy that can pull Wylan out of any lethargic state. He wants to drown in that now, to stop this conversation, because he can’t help thinking about how this - safely playing the market and being his helper in running the businesses and estates - is not what Jesper was made for. That he's starting to grow tired of it, that he's itching to run. To the Barrel. To the gambling dens. To Ravka. To his father's farm. Anywhere. "They make you want to go running for the hills." He says quietly and it feels like popping the cork from a bottle he's kept carefully hidden away.  


"For the hills?" Jesper wrinkles his nose and shakes his head before leaning down and brushing a kiss across Wylan's forehead, down over his cheek. "Hill running is highly overrated sunshine."  


"The Barrel then? Back to Kaz." He murmurs, his fear spilling out of him now that the stopper has been removed. He closes his eyes tight and wishes that he couldn't feel the fading scrape of the pen still warm against his skin. Or the heat of Jesper’s mouth muddling it all up.  


"Gods no." Jesper laughs. "Why would I go back to the Slat when I've such a comfy deal going on here? You do remember the beds there right?"  


"Jesper." Wylan pleads, for what, he doesn't know. He can't stand the thought of Jesper leaving, can't stand the thought of the boy starting to resent him. He was eight when he'd first seen the glimmer of resentment in his Father's eyes but he can still remember it and he can't bear to see that darkness ever creep up into the clear gray of Jesper's - marring his joy, his laugh, his gangly bouncing walk.  


If it wasn't for his mother, he would go with him, he'd let Jesper lead them wherever his pulsing energy led. But he can't.  


"This is what I hate most about them."  


Blue eyes popping open, Wylan glances sharply up at him, his gaze raking over Jesper's face that is still looming so close to his. "What?"  


"Going back to that are we?" Jesper murmurs, his lips descending back to Wylan's cheek, down his throat, and over his collar, his fingers dancing the length of his arm until he has Wylan's wrist with his smeared named pinned down to the pillow again - effectively twisting everything up inside him, knotting together the worry and desire. "Every time we leave for one, you look at me like I'm going to shoot my own foot with my pistols."  


"You don't wear your pistols to the meetings."  


"Not the point darling."  


"Maybe stop kissing me then so I can follow along."  


"Alright, we'll give that blushing brain of yours a fighting chance." Jesper smirks, the pen back in his hand, the ink looping over the inside of Wylan’s other wrist. "What does this say?" He asks a moment later, lifting the smaller boy’s hand up into the air.  


Blinking, Wylan forces his eyes to focus on the wobbling words, waiting silently until they merge and still enough to make a pinch of sense. "My name." He says quietly.  


"Bingo." Jesper grins, his pen moving beneath it, drawing the ink outwards and back in, making thick lines and deep blotches. "And this?"  


Frowning with that sinking feeling of sitting on the edge of failure, Wylan makes himself look below his name, ready to watch letters that make no sense dance before him. But there's no taunting words ready to laugh at his inability, instead there’s only a picture - drawn hastily but clearly. "It's an eye." He says softly, not quite understanding where Jesper is going with this. The boy usually only draws pictures on his hands and wrists during meetings, at meals, while sitting out in the backyard watching his mother paint. Not in their bed at night.  


Jesper nods, his fingers already moving the pen in another quick sketch. "Next one?"  


"A heart." Wylan whispers, a blush staining his cheeks as he stares at the wobbly inked heart.  


"Yup. Now last one."  


Wylan watches as Jesper drawers a line with a triangle at the end. "...An arrow?" He guesses, his brow furrowing in confusion.  


Jesper frowns at it for a moment. "Yeah but, what's it pointing at?"  


"Umm...me? The arrow is supposed to be me?"  


"Close but I wouldn't be calling you me, I'd be calling you, you. Damn, that sounds weird. Not me. You. Get it?"  


"No." Wylan chuckles with a little smile turning up his lips at Jesper's ramblings that sound more than a little nervous, the sharpshooter’s fingers running through his own hair as his other ones start tapping against Wylan's palm on the pillow.  


"Just put it all together Merchling." Jesper grumbles, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he eyes the line of symbols starting at Wylan's wrist and working their way up his arm - his tapping fingers picking up in speed and tempo. "And don't say me at the end, that would ruin it. You, okay? The arrow is _you_."  


Nodding, Wylan drags his gaze away from Jesper's oddly vulnerable expression and back to his arm - taking a deep, steadying breath as his eyes fall on his name. "Wylan, eye, heart, you." He says slowly, stopping carefully between each symbol as the words catch in his mouth - his pulse beginning to pound loudly in his ears as the seconds tick by.  


_Wylan, I heart you._  


"Ghezen, not heart. I'm not ten, it's supposed to be -"  


"Love?" Wylan fills in for him, the restless energy flowing out of the boy atop him coursing over him in a wave as he tries to keep his breathing under control.  


Jesper stills. "Yes, exactly. Say it again. With, you know...instead of heart."  


_Wylan, I love you_. The words settle like a fire in his heart, burning away the fear as it chokes his throat and stings his eyes. He blinks and looks back up at Jesper, staring at his gray eyes that stop suddenly from their jumping around the room like he's been caught in a web. He watches the darker boy's throat move as he swallows, feels him shift back and forth, his hand tightening on Wylan's wrist. Gods above, but he never knew he could feel like this, that all it would take was some ink and a too tall boy jittering nervously atop him.

 

"I love you." He says softly, his chest clenching.  


Jesper twitches, blinks, opens and closes his mouth. "You...you forgot the first word."  


"No I didn't."  


"You sure?"  


"Positive."  


"Well, hell." Jesper says and then he's kissing him again, his hands slipping into his ruddy curls, his lips eager and fast - deepening it before Wylan can even catch his bearings, his own hands clasping tight around the darker boy's shoulders, his heart pounding, thumping against the pulse he can feel speeding through Jesper like a ticking bomb. "I love you Wylan." He whispers, mouth still on his, barely pulling away long enough to get the words out before he’s kissing him again in a way that feels devastating.

 

Wylan squeezes his eyes shut and groans, falling into the kiss that’s making him forget everything else except the four little words still ringing in his ears.  


"Is that what it all says?" He asks awhile later, his head dizzy and light, his skin tingling with the thought that Jesper has been writing out declarations of love onto his skin night after night, just waiting for him to ask about it. "The writing?"  


"Some of it." Jesper shifts off him before running his hand down Wylan’s arm, his fingers twisting over the dried ink on his chest and stomach. "It's all about you though."  


"Are you going to read it to me?" He asks, rolling onto his side and slipping against the curve of the other boy's body, a stupid grin lighting his face and making his cheeks blush all over again as he catches sight of the drawings on his arm.  


"Not tonight, gotta keep somethings a mystery don't I? Don't want you getting sick of me." Jesper mutters, eyeing a patch of pale skin like he's planning out the words he wants to cover it with, his gaze enough to make Wylan’s flush deepen and a shiver rush up his spine.  


"That's not possible, Jes." And he means it - he means it so much that he never lets himself think about it, means it so much that he can't help but be terrified of it.  


"True, I am amazing." Jesper chuckles, slinging an arm over Wylan's waist and tugging as he presses in for a kiss. "Wylan...you know I'm not going to leave, right?"  


No, he doesn't. He can't know that for sure, but he wants to believe it, believe that not everything in this foul city leaves and disappoints. Wants to believe that Jesper isn't slowly coming undone at the seams living this kind of life. Wants to believe the markings covering his body, especially the ones drawn out on his arm. He wants to, so he will. Biting his lip, he nods, slowly, his fingers running feather light over the other boy's collarbone.  


"So no more, _Jesper is going to shoot himself in the foot_ , stares?"  


Wylan laughs, quiet and happy. "No more foot shooting stares." He agrees.  


"Good." Jesper grins, hands pushing the slighter boy back down onto his back as he slips on top of him, his mouth seeking out the black letters marring his chest. "Now shush, I plan on ravishing you for the rest of the night and need my concentration."  


"But we have an early meeting." Wylan protests but it sounds weak even to him, his back arching like Jesper's fingers have a magic pull in them that can command things other than metal. And who knows, maybe he does, nothing the boy could do would surprise him anymore.  


Jesper's eyes twinkle mischievously as he pauses and glances up, his chin propped on Wylan's stomach, his fingers playing with the band of his pants, the promise in that look making Wylan’s insides twist up in the best way possible. "Oh, I know." He snickers before bending back to his work.  


Wylan's head falls back against the pillow, hands twisting in the sheets, his breath a gasp that rattles in the flickering candle light. He’s exposed again, lying open like a book, but his tongue is far from silent, the bottled fear and worry having been poured onto the ground, the glass shattered to glittering pieces. He struggles to keep his eyes open and sees the pen, lying forgotten until the next time beside him.

 

Then Jesper’s hands are back on his face, slipping through his hair, his lips catching against his in a messy kiss before the darker boy’s cheek is pressing against his, his breath ragged in his ear. He smiles and listens to the rhythm it pours against him, like the most perfect melody he’s ever heard. His own hand finds its way into Jesper’s hair, his other arm clutching at the other boy's sweaty back, his name catching in the corner of his hazy vision as he struggles to keep himself from slipping over the edge too soon. He blinks back the fog and stares at it, at the few letters he knows - at the eye, the heart, the arrow.  


_Wylan, I love you_.  


The first sentence he's ever read.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! I'm kind of thinking about writing a sequel to this, just another little oneshot, because lets face it, I think I'm a bit hooked on this Jesper writing things he can't say idea. Would that be something anyone would be interested in?
> 
> Comments make me stupidly happy and are always appropriated :)


End file.
